


moonlit

by Star_on_a_Staff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Affection, Banter, Bisexual Linhardt, Clothed Sex, Demisexual!Linhardt, Demisexuality, Dom!Marianne, Dorothea is mentioned, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Grinding, Library Sex, Linhardt loves his wife, Marianne is buff and I will die on this hill, Married Couple, Married Sex, Neck Kissing, One brief line of violence, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sub!Linhardt, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff
Summary: Once, Marianne had kissed Linhardt, and he had gone weak and pliant under her arms within an embarrassingly short amount of time.Married Linhardt/Marianne smut, with light notes of femdom. Post Canon.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	moonlit

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour after I've been struggling with writing smut for these two for MONTHS. Sometimes the spirits just compel you, y'know?
> 
> I have a headcanon that Linhardt's a demisexual bi disaster, like myself, so this is like, their first time doing anything more than kissing even though I never really mentioned that here. Well, now you know. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Once, Marianne had kissed Linhardt, and he had gone weak and pliant under her arms within an embarrassingly short amount of time. 

Many underestimated the strength of gentle Marianne, for she had little opportunity to prove her strength alongside overblown muscled soldiers like Caspar or Raphael. But she once carried him off of a battlefield while he coughed red, and he never forgot it. 

Her startling strength always seems to overwhelm him when even the most dazzling of women or the most dashing of men could not, and he would possibly never live down their wedding day when she had leaned forward to kiss him fervently and he'd nearly moaned aloud in that cavernous cathedral before his parents, their former professor the Archbishop, their friends, about a hundred members of the gentry, and the Holy Goddess Herself. 

Dorothea, who had ears like a bat, held in her smirk for a grand total of six seconds before cackling under the blare of the organs proclaiming the marriage of the Margravine and her husband. Linhardt longed to kiss his wife again and to strangle the songstress, and thus experienced the extremes of the span of human emotion within a single day. 

Ah, but that was months ago. He had time to adjust to the pleasant monotony of married life and forget the electric shot that was her lips against his. 

At least, that was what he thought.

O.O

The hour was late. The library was empty, and Linhardt was its only occupant as he slid hardcover tomes back into the shelving of the bookcase. 

The doors eased open with a squeak, and Linhardt turned his head to see his wife slip inside, wearing her thin nightgown and an expression of concern. “Linhardt? It’s so late!”

“I know,” he replied, pushing another spine into the shelf. “I had to explore a thesis this scholar-king posited back in the ninth century. Did you know that some Crests were once thought to be able to be transferred via blood transfusions? How grotesque.”

“Truly,” Marianne shuddered as she floated up to his side. “Let me help.”

“Thank you.”

They shelved books in a comfortable silence, stepping around each other to ensure that every novel was properly alphabetized and in its proper date. At some point, the hem of Marianne’s gown caught the curtain of the floor to ceiling bay windows that overlooked the grounds of her estate, and she blinked as the moonlight flooded inside the room. 

“Look, it’s a full moon,” she pointed out with a smile as Linhardt looked back to where she was pointing.

“Ah, he exclaimed as he joined her by the window. “So it is.”

“It’s so fair,” Marianne said softly. “I’ve always thought it cold, unfeeling. It looks almost golden in this light.”

She stood wreathed in moonlight, her nightgown a gauzy haze swirling about her fair knees, and something warm blossomed in his chest. 

He reached for her hand, and she took it as easily as drawing a second breath. 

“It’s radiant,” Linhardt said, but he wasn’t looking at the moon.

Marianne turned to him, smiling, and then upon seeing his face, the smile deepened to something less joyous, more anticipatory. 

As Linhardt leaned in, he had a split second to admire the angelic length of her lashes fluttering against her cheek before she reached up the rest of the way for their lips to meet. 

At first, he explored the kiss with a gentle sort of curiosity, intrigued by the soft sounds that escaped the fervent press of lips against his. She kissed back with a shyness that slowly dripped away as she brought her flexing fingers up to grip the crooks of his elbows. Then, her hands tightened on the folds of his robes, and she turned her head and there was her tongue, tentatively and hungrily licking at the seam of his mouth. 

Oh. _Oh._

Marianne pushed him into the wood paneling of the library wall. Somewhere, a window frame groaned. Her fingers encircled the base of his head and gripped, and this time the sound that left his mouth was less gentle, less curious.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed when she wrenched away, wide-eyed and panting for breath. “Please.”

Marianne’s eyes flashed bright, then dark, and then he was pulling her in and her foot lifted to delicately twine about his and oh, there was something beautiful and marvelous about the way her hands trembled about his collar with their need to push past the fabric, to explore his scorching skin with her fingers. He would gladly let her. He would have her wrest him to the floor and tear his presence of mind away. 

He broke from this kiss with a barely contained moan as her hips nudged against his. Marianne blinked, turned pink, murmured an apology. 

“I—” Linhardt bit his lip, licked her taste off. “Would you do that again?”

Marianne exhaled loudly, her breath warm and sweet and smelling of golden wine. Her tilted head and the tiny wrinkle of concern that bunched up between her eyebrows was adorable. The glow that softened her face and blazed in her eyes made her look deific, powerful, radiant. He was weak for her. 

“Please,” Linhardt asked, almost begged. 

Marianne licked her lips. He nearly whimpered at the sight. 

She trailed her arms back up to lace around his neck, and his arms automatically fell around her waist. She rolled her hips into him with a bewildered sort of fascination. 

“A-ah—”

His gasp, pitched high and breathy, echoed in the cavernous library. Thank every Saint and the Goddess that all the servants had gone to bed. Marianne sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes wide with amazement. 

“Love,” she called him, wonderingly. “Are you—is this—”

“Yes, yes,” Linhardt groaned as she rolled her hips up again, more smooth and sinuous this time. "Mmph, fuck—”

“Linhardt...” she breathed, her head falling back as he pushed back into her. Her arms gripped him, her nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. The sting burned. It felt glorious. 

He fumbled for the collar of her gown with one trembling hand. He unraveled silken string to reveal pale ivory skin, glimmering in the moonlight. He kissed her skin there, where her sweat sang and her hair wept. 

Marianne sighed, the exhalation bordering on a shudder as her leg hooked more powerfully around his waist. She manhandled him harder against the wall, and this time the rolls of her hips were faster, harder, bordering on desperate. The skirt of her gown was rucked up to her lovely ivory thighs. His robes were too hot, too close—

“Kiss me,” he begged, and she did so with a ferocity that had him groan into her mouth as her hand traveled down to part the folds of his robes to pinch a dusky nipple. He nearly bit her tongue, but judging from the soft moan that escaped her lips she wouldn’t have minded. 

“Are you close?” Marianne asks him, breathy with awe. Ever, her hips moved. She had found a maddeningly perfect rhythm. Her voice broke. “Oh, but you look so beautiful—”

“I’m—I’m close,” Linhardt stammered as she caressed him adoringly. He writhed with overstimulation, so close, almost undone. “Ah—Mari—”

Her hand suddenly dropped down, pushing past layers of fabric, and traced the sharp arch of his hip bones. He came with a muffled wail as she licked the sound from his mouth with one last, unhurried kiss. Her hand pinned him to the wall, the other lazily exploring the curve of his trim waist, and the only thing he could hear was the roaring of blood and his harsh panting. 

When Linhardt floated back to himself, unsteady and just a touch dizzy, he felt more than saw Marianne reach a hand down and plunge two fingers urgently into herself with a whimper. He had enough sense and good manners left to lean down, brush a lock of damp hair behind the delicate shell of her ear, and kiss her neck until she arched her back and came with a low cry. 

He watched her come back to herself through half-lidded eyes. As she trembled against the arch of his leg, her breasts heaving in her dress, Linhardt pressed his lips against her forehead and set about arranging her unkempt hair back into some semblance of the crown it once was. 

She slowly returned the favor by straightening out his wrinkled robes and tweaking his collar back into place. There was an uncomfortable wet spot between his legs thankfully hidden in the dark colors of the cloth, but it’ll have to be cleaned another day as he caught her busy fingers and kissed them, a kiss on each knuckle. 

“I would like to do that again,” he admitted against the tang of her skin, and Marianne laughed. Her laugh was beautiful, and it warmed him better than the hottest hearth in all of winterdom. 

“I would as well,” she replied, twisting her fingers out of his grasp to cup his jaw tenderly and meet his gaze. “I love you very much.”

“As I love you,” he answered quietly, and she cradled his face in her hands like he would break if she were to let go. Her eyes shone in the moonlight, and Linhardt dizzily thought that if she were to look at him like that any longer, he would melt through the floorboards.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he admitted, and Marianne flushed bright, then sly. “Do you need to be carried?”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Linhardt demurred, but she was already slinging a sinewy arm about the back of his thighs and sweeping him into her arms. Goddess, getting married was the best decision he’d ever made in his life, he thought in delight. 

“I might drop you,” Marianne warned through a laughing gasp as she staggered to the door, but Linhardt immediately wound his arms around her neck and held on tight. “I’ll bring you with me, _wife_.”

“What a dreadful husband I have,” she murmured, and he kissed her neck in retaliation, almost toppling them both.

She didn’t drop him. He didn’t think she would. 

.

.

. 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Support your local libraries folks
> 
> Thank you for reading! And if you like this, you should hang out with me on my much more SFW [twitter](https://twitter.com/clairvoyancehsu)!


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